


Handler and Agent

by DiaryofaWriter



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint finally gets his head outta his ass and admits his feelings, First Time, M/M, Phil is a cinnamon roll, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 05:33:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4654248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiaryofaWriter/pseuds/DiaryofaWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's been a member of S.H.I.E.L.D. for five years now. It's going pretty good, except for one thing; he's falling hard for his handler. That just cannot be a thing. Until he finds out that Phil feels the same for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Handler and Agent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [circlenowsquared (csquared225)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/csquared225/gifts).



The air was cold as Clint Barton settled into place, adjusting his earpiece in his good ear.  Even after about five years working with S.H.I.E.L.D., he wasn't quite used to the idea of having someone in his ear at all times while he was on a job.  But Coulson was usually pretty quiet unless things changed suddenly, so it wasn't that much of a burden.

No, the real burden was when Coulson wanted to just chat over the comms.

It wasn't that Clint didn't like talking to Coulson; because that wasn't the case _at all_.  Coulson was a lot more fun to talk to than most of the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents Clint had ever worked with.  For one thing, if Clint changed the subject suddenly, Coulson wouldn't hound him about it, like the other agents liked to do.  Then there was the fact that Coulson was a complete nerd, and Clint was one of the few people who knew that.

So the problem wasn't that Clint didn't like talking to Coulson; the problem was that he liked it _too much_.

Clint had started to notice this about three years ago, after a tough mission in Berlin.  Coulson hadn't been the handler on that one, and Clint hadn't really gotten along with the agent who was his handler.  Not to insult Agent Sitwell, but Clint just did not mesh well with him, even if he was a friend of Coulson's.  So after the mission was done, Clint had gone to his room in the safehouse and grabbed the phone.  Before he could even register what he had done, he'd dialed the number for Coulson's personal phone.  That had startled him, and he'd hung up just as he heard Coulson start to say his name in greeting.

To this day, Clint wasn't entirely sure if Coulson knew that it had been _him_ calling on that day.

What really sucked about being so close with his handler was how dangerous it was, emotionally.  Clint knew better than to get involved when he was a freelancer.  It was easy to stay detached then. Most of the people you interacted with would use you just as quickly as they'd kill you.  Relationships in that world were short-lived, and they rarely left a lasting emotional impact on you.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was different, though.  Here, his life was stable.  He had an apartment now, as well as several safehouses that were at his disposal.  He'd even gotten a goldfish and named it Binky.  Life was good for him now, and it was making him go soft.  That was a dangerous thing to do, in this line of work.  If he got too complacent, someone could easily make a target out of him.  The problem was, it was so easy to get complacent in S.H.I.E.L.D., where everyone was just nice to him and not out to stab him in the back the moment he looked away.

Especially Coulson.

Which led to his other huge issue with being so damned close with Coulson; he was starting to fantasize about his handler.  That, in and of itself, wasn't too big of an issue. Fraternization within the agency wasn't unheard of. In fact, most of the agents who were in relationships with one another said it was just easier to be with a fellow agent.  No secrets from your significant other, and all that.  What bothered Clint about it was Coulson's gender.

It would probably shock most of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who had ever worked with him, but Clint was a pretty decent Catholic.  He attended mass at least once a month—more, if he could manage it—and he always lit a candle for every person he'd ever killed.  But as a Catholic, that meant he was supposed to see homosexuality as a sin.  He'd tried to work around that, to tell himself it was just gratitude to Coulson for getting him out of the life he'd hated so much.  That hadn't really worked out too well for him, especially when the fantasies turned far more sexual.  But he'd seen so many good people in S.H.I.E.L.D. in homosexual relationships, which only added to his own confusion.

"You there, Barton?"

Coulson's voice in Clint's good ear broke through his thoughts, and he blushed darkly as he realized he had a hard on now.

"Yeah, boss," he grumbled.  "Sorry. Was just getting into position."

"Okay," Coulson said mildly, but there was an undertone of disbelief that most people would miss.

Clint cursed mentally at himself.  Both for not being a convincing liar, and for being so used to hearing Coulson's voice that he could tell his moods by his tones.  Running a hand through his hair, he closed his eyes for a moment before trying to focus on the mission at hand again.

"Target should be in your sights shortly, Barton," Coulson's voice spoke up, the tone almost gentle, as though he was worried about Clint.

Pulling out his bow, Clint focused on the task of setting it up, and not on the potential worry Coulson may or may not be feeling for him.  With the bow now put together, he put his eye to the scope, scanning the streets below him.  There she was.  The target was a S.H.I.E.L.D. acquisition who had gone rogue, stealing useful intel to sell to the highest bidder.  She looked youngish, but it was hard to properly guess her age from this distance.

"Got her in my scope," Clint murmured into the comm.  "Your call on whether or not I take the shot, boss."

There was silence for several minutes. That wasn't a surprise. Coulson was probably watching the whole thing over a computer screen that also had satellite imaging of the city.  He'd make the call in good time, when he felt that the target was in a less open and public position.

"Take the shot," Coulson said slowly.  "But only incapacitate.  Fury wants her brought back for interrogation."

That did make sense.  The information she had stolen was still out there, somewhere.  With a quiet word of understanding to Coulson, Clint stood up and took aim.  He never missed, and he sure wasn't going to start now.

~~~~

The debriefing was standard, except in one way.  Since it had only been Coulson and Clint who were actually on this mission, it was just the two of them along with Maria Hill in a room.  This was not what Clint was looking forward to.  He didn't want to be practically alone in a room with Coulson; not when he was trying to keep himself from getting a fucking hard on at the drop of a hat around his handler.

He wasn't really paying attention to what Hill said during the meeting.  Could it even be _called_ a meeting, when it was just three people present? He really didn't think so.  Either way, he wasn't really paying attention because he was too busy trying to not squirm every time Coulson so much as glanced at him.  He was pretty sure Hill could tell how distracted he was, and she probably didn't like it at all.  But at this point, Clint couldn't bring himself to really care that much.  He had other, more serious issues to deal with right now.  Like how to avoid Coulson when this briefing was over.

When he did notice that Hill had stopped talking, Clint bolted up like he'd been shocked by a live wire.  He didn't even bother to look back at Coulson as he rushed towards the door. But before he could make it out to freedom, he felt a hand on his shoulder, stopping him cold.

"Barton," Coulson's voice was soft again, and there was that undertone of worry that Clint had tried to tell himself he hadn't heard before.  "I think we should talk."

Cursing mentally, Clint glanced over his shoulder at Coulson.  "Why?" he asked.

"You seem a little out of it," Coulson replied gently.  "Is something bothering you? You've been more distant than usual for the past few weeks."

A few more colorful phrases came to mind as Clint looked away from Coulson.  So he hadn't been as subtle as he'd hoped.  Then again, "subtle" had never really been in his vocabulary.  He used a bow and arrow, for crying out loud, and everyone in the entire world knew that he did.  Then there was the purple he'd insisted S.H.I.E.L.D. somehow work into his uniform.  It probably came from spending what the S.H.I.E.L.D. shrink called his "formative years" in a circus.

"So I've been distant," Clint grumbled.  "So what?"

If he didn't know any better, Clint would have thought that Coulson looked hurt as he tried to turn away from his handler.  But Clint did know better. Why would Coulson look hurt about something like this?  It wasn't like they were a thing.

"Clint…"

That made Clint freeze.  In all the years since he had joined S.H.I.E.L.D., Coulson had never used his first name while talking to him.  Taking a deep, steadying breath, he slowly turned to face Coulson head on.  This was just to make Coulson realize he was fine, Clint told himself. Nothing more.

"Clint, was it something I did?" Coulson asked slowly.

He couldn't meet Coulson's gaze head on.  If he did, he'd spill his guts, and then Coulson would hate him forever.  Even if he knew what he felt for his handler, Clint couldn't imagine a world where Phil Coulson, one of the last genuinely good men in the world, could want him back.

"Why would it be something you did?" Clint asked, forcing himself to sound casual.

Coulson was silent for several moments; long enough that Clint began to squirm a little.  What was Coulson going to say?  Had Clint been too obvious about his feelings?  Was it his own inner turmoil that Coulson had picked up on?  Whatever it was, Clint was torn by whether or not he wanted to know.

"It's been a while since we talked just to talk," Coulson finally said.  "I thought we were—" he cut himself off.  "I was starting to enjoy our conversations."

That was probably the biggest lie Clint had ever heard, and he was a _spy._  No one liked talking with Clint.  He was a punk who, unlike the majority of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, hadn't even finished grade school.  He wasn't good company when he was in a pleasant mood, so why would Coulson say something so stupid?

"Yeah, right," Clint huffed.  "I gotta clean my bow."

He turned to go, but once more he felt a hand on his arm.  This time, though, Coulson wasn't gentle.  His fingers closed around Clint's forearm tightly.  It actually hurt, which surprised Clint.  He stared at Coulson's hand in confusion.

"I'm not lying, Clint," Coulson said firmly.  "When have I ever lied to you?"

Still a little taken aback by the fact that Coulson was calling him Clint, it took him a minute to think of an answer to his handler's question.  Thinking about it carefully, Clint had to admit that Coulson had never lied to him before.  From the day when Phil—Coulson—had first found Clint in an old dive bar in the slums of Atlanta, he had always been honest with Clint.  It was a bit hard to admit, but there wasn't any avoiding that truth.  Looking away from Phil— _damnit Barton, it's_ Coulson—Clint huffed in frustration.

"I guess never," he grumbled under his breath.

"Exactly," Coulson murmured, his voice almost tender.  "I really do like our conversations, and I thought we were starting to become… friends."

There was a strange hesitation in Coulson's voice just before he said the word _friends._  That made Clint stiffen in confusion and mild fear.  What had Coulson really meant when he said friends?   _Had_ he meant something other than just friends?  If he had, what did that mean for Clint?

"I guess we aren't friends," Clint grumbled under his breath.  "It's stupid to be friends with me."

"I don't think that's true," Coulson retorted sharply.  "Clint, you keep talking about yourself like you're not worth anything, but that is the farthest thing from the truth I have ever heard!"

Clint started in surprise at this, staring at Coulson in confusion.  He couldn't understand why his handler was suddenly so passionate about this topic.  Honestly, the last person who had been this invested in his safety or personal well-being had been his brother.  That hadn't exactly gone well.

"Clint," Coulson repeated gently.  "I'm not lying."

Everything in Clint wanted to believe Phil Coulson; wanted it with an intensity that frightened him.  He shouldn't be so focused on Coulson, he told himself.  It was ridiculous to fixate on a man who would probably reject him if he knew what Clint was feeling for him.  Because, honestly, how could Coulson want someone as fucked up as Clint was?  That was assuming that Coulson would even be interested in a homosexual relationship with _anyone,_ of course.  What if Coulson wasn't gay?  That would be all kinds of embarrassing for Clint if he ever opened up to his handler about how he felt.

"Yeah, well," Clint shrugged, turning away again.  "People lie.  'Specially in this line of work, boss."

Once more, a hand grabbed onto Clint's forearm tightly.  He didn't look at Phil's face.  If he did, he'd just start spilling his guts and that would not end well for either of them.  Still, he could tell a lot by how Phil was holding his arm.  There was concern and tension in the other man's fingers, and it was making it really hard for Clint to not look at him.

"Not me," Phil said firmly, in a way that made it impossible for Clint to think of him as anything _but_ Phil.  There was none of the blandly Coulson-like tone in his handler's voice right now.  "I'm not lying, Clint, and I never will lie to you."

Tears that Clint was _not_ going to admit to being aware of began to fill his eyes, blurring his vision.  Phil's grip didn't loosen on his arm, and for a moment he thought maybe, just maybe, everything could turn out okay.  But nothing ever turned out okay for Clinton Francis Barton.  That was just a fact of life.

"I just want you to talk to me," Phil murmured.

"Talking's not my strong suit, sir," Clint managed to say though he sounded really choked up, to his horror.

"Then… will you show me?"

That sealed it.  This was just the universe as a whole having a laugh at Clint's expense.  Laughing harshly with no mirth behind it, Clint turned to face Phil.  The other man's expression was troubled and just a little hurt.  Damnit.

"Fine. I'll show you what's wrong," Clint growled.

Then, his lips were pressed firmly against Phil's.  He tried his best to not think about what he was doing, but that was pretty fucking hard to do since he was kissing Phil fucking Coulson.  It took a moment or two for Clint to realize something very important; Phil was kissing him _back._  That realization was enough to make Clint pull out of the kiss, staring at the other man in shock.

Phil's face was a little flushed, his breathing shallow as he met Clint's gaze.  It was really unfair, honestly.  Because seeing that he had done this to Phil—that he was responsible for making this controlled man so flustered—was doing Things to Clint.  For several moments, all Clint could do was stare at Phil, and Phil just stared right back at him.

"So," Phil said, clearing his throat carefully.  "I take it that you have an interest in me?"

At this point, Clint didn't know if Phil was fucking with him or honestly confused.  Either way, it was enough for him to double over in hysterical laughter.  He really didn't know why he was laughing so hard.  It wasn't like any part of this situation was inherently _funny._  Hell, if anything, this whole scenario was right out of Clint's nightmares.  Still, the deadpan tone in Phil's voice was just too much for Clint to take without cracking in some way.  If he wasn't laughing, he was pretty damned sure he'd be crying instead.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Clint could see Phil giving him a confused look.  He couldn't blame his handler for looking like that.  If it were anyone else who had just broken down in hysterics, Clint would have the biggest 'what the fuck' look on his face.  But right now, he didn't really care if he was worrying Phil.  He couldn't breathe without breaking down in laughter again.

It took about three minutes—maybe longer—before Clint was finally able to control himself again.  Straightening up a little, he smiled weakly at Phil and shrugged.

"I guess you could say that," he said slowly.

Phil nodded slowly, his expression as controlled as ever.  Clint's heart sank as he saw this.  He knew it.  Phil—Coulson, damnit—didn't want Clint.  How could he?  Turning away hastily so Coulson couldn't see the hurt in his eyes, Clint coughed and nodded stiffly.

"Anyway," he muttered.  "I'll just get outta your hair—"

Before he could finish his sentence, though, Phil had grabbed onto Clint's arm.  In an instant, Clint found himself being turned to face Phil as the other agent's lips found his.  This couldn't be happening, Clint told himself.  Yeah, maybe Phil had kissed himself before, but that was easily explained by reflexes.  This time, there was no excuse.  It just could not be really happening.  It was impossible for it to be real.  But no matter how many times he told himself that it wasn't real, Clint couldn't deny what was happening for too long.

Making a desperate noise, he kissed Phil back fiercely, his hands moving to clutch at the front of Phil's suit jacket.  His lips parted instinctively, and a moan escaped him as Phil's tongue took advantage of this.  It was so surreal, knowing that Phil was kissing him _willingly._  Not just kissing him, but kissing him _with tongue_.

It felt like they stayed like that forever; just making out like horny teenagers against the wall of the conference room in the Triskelion.  When the need for air finally forced them apart, Clint stared at Phil in wonder, his heartbeat thundering so loudly in his ears he was sure that Phil could hear it.

"We should move," Phil panted quietly into Clint's ear.  "Maria would kill me if I got lube on the carpet in here."

Wait—lube?  Clint hadn't been thinking that far ahead.  Well, okay, his dick had been, judging by how tight the crotch of his jeans now felt.  But he hadn't thought that _Phil_ was thinking that far ahead.  Also, there was something really, sinfully hot about hearing Phil Coulson say the word 'lube' in that husky tone.  If he wasn't already so hard he felt more than a little uncomfortable, Clint would have been hard in an instant just from hearing Phil say that one word.  It was kind of pathetic, honestly.

"Wha—?" Clint asked stupidly.

Phil gave him a wry smile and pressed his forehead against Clint's.  "I said we should move," he murmured.

"…For sex?" Clint would have slapped himself if he had the will to move his hand to do so.  He sounded so fucking idiotic!

"If that's what you want, Clint."

 _If?  Fucking if?!_  There was no _if_ about Clint wanting sex with Phil _fucking_ Coulson!  But he didn't really have the words to express that to Phil.  Something about the other agent—maybe the fact that just two minutes ago Phil's tongue had been in his mouth—made Clint's brain go into complete shutdown mode.  All he could do was nod enthusiastically.  That seemed to get his point across, though, as Phil smiled—actually really smiled!—and took Clint's hand in his.

"Then let's go somewhere private," he said in a low voice.  "My place?"

Clint nodded again, his brain still really fried.  Phil took that well, though, and led him along.  He kept hold of Clint's hand, too, which made Clint feel all fucking mushy inside.  It didn't make sense that having something as simple as Phil holding his hand happen to him made Clint feel so sappy.  But maybe it was the fact that Phil wasn't ashamed of him.  Knowing that Phil could relay to the world that Clint wasn't broken for feeling like he did, knowing that Phil didn't feel like Clint was _wrong_ made a huge impression.

He spent the entire drive to Phil's apartment considering all of this.  By the time they reached the apartment, Clint was pretty damn sure he was in love with Phil Coulson.  But he couldn't say it yet.  That would be way too weird.  Saying the L-word so soon would be asking for Phil to run away in fear.  So he kept that realization bottled up for the time being.  That would come later, he promised himself.

Clint followed after Phil quickly once the car was parked.  He'd been to Phil's apartment before, once.  That time, he'd been so high on painkillers that he hadn't noticed much about it.  The only reason that Clint had agreed to stay in the first place had been because he'd realized that if he tried to get to his own apartment, he'd probably end up faceplanting on the asphalt just outside the Triskelion.  Now that he was actually completely sober, Clint looked around to get a better look at where Phil called 'home'.

It wasn't a big apartment, which wasn't a huge surprise.  After all, Phil lived alone, and he wasn't at his apartment that often from what Clint had seen.  There also weren't a lot of decorations or personal photos.  Also not that surprising.  Clint had a similar habit with various places he'd lived.  It was easier in lifestyles like the one Clint and Phil had to not leave out personal items or pictures.  That way, if you were compromised, those you cared about weren't likely to be in the immediate line of fire.  Other than the lack of photos, there wasn't much of distinction in the apartment.  The colors were pretty muted, much like Phil himself.  Even with the seemingly unlived-in look of the whole apartment, it still felt really homey to Clint.

"Nice place," he said idly.

He was still hard as a rock, but he didn't want to push for sex.  That would be really dickish of him to do.  Even if he wasn't going to push for it, that didn't mean he was comfortable in jeans that felt way too tight right now.  Clint couldn't stop himself from squirming a little as he continued looking around.

"Thank you," Phil replied.  Then he smiled over at Clint and took his hand again.  "Let's get you out of those clothes.  You look uncomfortable."

 _About fucking time_ , Clint found himself thinking.  Which was dickish and not warranted.  Except he _was_ really hard.

"Maybe a bit," he admitted shyly.  Then, even quieter than before, he added, "I'm really hard."

A look that Clint couldn't quite name crossed Phil's face after he admitted this.  Whatever that look meant, it was making Clint's cock even harder, if that was physically possible.  A shiver ran down his spine as he followed Phil into the bedroom.

This was the one part of the apartment that Clint hadn't been in, and it surprised him considerably.  The bed, for one thing, was really big for only one guy.  Then there was the fact that the bed looked really comfortable.  Not only that, but the colors in here weren't that muted.  They were rich and deep and very sexy.  Swallowing nervously, Clint hovered by the door of the bedroom, not entirely sure what to do with himself.

"Clint," Phil said quietly from where he stood by the bed.  "Come here.  It's okay."

For a moment, Clint bristled at being spoken to like he was a spooked animal.  Then he calmed down because it was Phil talking to him like that, and he probably did resemble a spooked animal.  Smiling weakly, he walked over towards Phil.

"Have you ever done this before?" Phil asked quietly.  "I mean… slept with a man?"

There was hesitation in Phil's voice as he asked, which took a little of the embarrassment out of having to answer it.  Clint didn't know why, but it didn't seem very weird admitting this to Phil.

"No," he said slowly.  "I haven't ever slept with a man before."

Phil sighed a little, though Clint couldn't tell if it was in relief or disappointment.  He really hoped it wasn't disappointment.  Glancing into Phil's eyes nervously, Clint waited for Phil to say something more.

"That's okay," Phil said.  "We'll just take it slow."

Slowly, Clint's shoulders relaxed as he smiled weakly.  Phil wasn't upset that he was a virgin; at least in this respect.  That knowledge made Clint want to sag in relief.  Stepping closer to Phil, Clint nodded slowly.

"I'd like that," he admitted.

A slight smile crossed Phil's lips as he reached over and cupped a hand over Clint's cheek.  The feeling of Phil's hand on his face made Clint close his eyes out of instinct.  Something about this felt so right, even if a part of his brain was still rebelling against the "wrongness" of this.  Nuzzling into Phil's palm, Clint couldn't bring himself to feel ashamed by any of what had happened since he first kissed Phil.  This couldn't be wrong, if it felt so natural to him.

"Let's get you undressed first," Phil murmured, his voice husky with desire.

Pleasant shivers ran down Clint's spine as he heard that hint of desire in Phil's voice.  Knowing that Phil felt that sort of longing for _him_ was a huge ego boost that Clint had needed.  He was plenty confident when it came to seducing or pleasuring a woman, but with a man it was all uncharted territory.  There was no frame of reference, and he was _scared._

Not that he'd ever say as much, of course.

"Okay," Clint said quietly.

With practiced ease, he tugged his t-shirt up over his head.  Clint knew he was in good shape.  Hell, he prided himself on that fact.  Being the best damn sharpshooter in the world was all well and good in its own right, but he didn't want to just be the best shot in the world.  A lot of people who were good at long-distance shooting were more likely to get cocky and think they were untouchable.  Those were the kind of people who would get stabbed in the back and not even realize it until it was too late.  Clint wasn't going to ever let himself become that kind of person.  With that goal in mind, he'd done all he could to be physically fit and good at hand-to-hand combat.  As a result, Clint knew he looked damned impressive without his shirt on.

Glancing at Phil to gauge the other man's response, Clint felt himself flush with pleasure when he saw how Phil's eyes were running over his chest and arms.  A part of Clint wanted to flex for Phil's viewing pleasure, but he stopped himself.  That would just be silly.

"Y-you can touch, bo—Phil," he said quietly.

Phil met Clint's eyes for a brief moment, his smile growing wider at Clint's use of his name.  Clint smiled back slightly, still feeling ridiculously shy.  It wasn't like he was self-conscious about his body; it was just that it was _Phil_ looking at him right now.

When Phil did reach out to touch him, Clint had to bite his lip to keep back the hiss of relief.  It didn't really make sense, how _good_ it felt being touched so innocently.  He had never gotten such a shock of pleasure from just having someone's hand on his shoulder before.  Maybe it was because of all of the anticipation after their last kiss.  Whatever it was, Clint wasn't about to complain.

Slowly, Phil's hands moved to explore Clint's chest, his fingers pausing now and then over the different tattoos and scars that covered his skin.  Clint wasn't heavily tattooed, but he had several.  There was a cross right over his heart, which was one of the first he'd ever gotten.  That was the tattoo Phil lingered over the longest, his fingers tracing the lines of the ink curiously.

"I didn't know you were religious," Phil mused.

"I don't make a show of it," Clint admitted.  "Most people in S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't believe me if I did, anyway."

Phil nodded slowly, his fingers brushing over Clint's nipple as his hand moved to slide down Clint's side.  A shudder went through Clint's body as his body responded very favorably to that little brush.  His cock throbbed, and for a moment Clint was worried that he'd come far too quickly.  With how horny Clint was, plus the way Phil was teasing him, it was a real concern.  Reaching down, Clint did his best to readjust himself in an attempt to ease the pressure on his cock.  Phil seemed to take note of this, as his hands moved down along Clint's stomach and sides to rest against the waistband of his jeans.

For a moment, Clint felt like he couldn't breathe.  Phil's hands were so close to his cock, and it was making him even more worried about premature ejaculation.  Taking a steadying breath, he looked into Phil's eyes.  To his surprise, Phil looked concerned.

"What is it?" Clint asked, pausing to clear his throat when his voice cracked from lust.

"Am I going too fast?" Phil asked gently.

That made Clint stare in surprise.  Phil thought he was going too fast?  It was almost cute, really, that Phil was so concerned for him.

"No," Clint said with a slight smile, even though he was nervous about all this.  "No, you aren't."

Phil smiled more at this and nodded.  Slowly, he undid the button and then the zipper on Clint's jeans.  Even that slight relief of pressure was enough to make Clint relax as his cock no longer felt like it was in a vice.  As he closed his eyes with a sigh of relief, Clint carefully toed off his sneakers.  Then he felt Phil's hands moving around his hips to ease his jeans down slowly, and he opened his eyes again.  Phil's eyes were fixed on the very obvious tent in Clint's boxers, but Clint couldn't bring himself to feel ashamed of this fact.  The admiration and longing in Phil's gaze made his cock twitch a little, and Clint couldn't help but feel very pleased by this.

As Phil continued to ease Clint's jeans down, Clint couldn't help noticing that he was the only one getting naked.

"Hey," he said with a wry smile.  "You planning on undressing too?"

Phil glanced up into Clint's eyes and chuckled low in his throat.  That sound made Clint have to bite back a moan.

"In a minute, Clint."

"Nope," Clint retorted.

Reaching over, he fumbled to undo Phil's tie.  Clint wasn't really used to ties and suits.  He didn't wear either very often, personally, and none of the—female—agents he'd slept with since joining S.H.I.E.L.D. seemed to have Phil's fixation with suits.  With that in mind, it took him a minute to finally get a grip on how the hell the tie even worked.  When he _did_ get the tie off, Clint grinned triumphantly.

"Very nice," Phil drawled.  "Don't just throw that onto the ground, okay?  It's one of my favorites."

Clint wasn't entirely sure if Phil was joking or not.  But he wasn't about to take any chances, so he reached over to drape the tie over the desk chair just behind him.  Then he started to push at Phil's suit jacket, which the other man helped him with.  It should have been weird, standing there half naked with his jeans undone and hanging loosely around his hips, but it wasn't.  If anything, it was just… _nice._

After Phil had draped his suit jacket over the chair along with his tie, Clint began to undo the buttons of Phil's shirt.  Slowly, he revealed inch after inch of skin, and his heartbeat began to speed up the more naked Phil became.  Clint had never seen Phil shirtless before; there hadn't been much call for it.  After all, Clint was the one who was always being dragged to the infirmary, not Phil.  So now, seeing Phil like this, Clint didn't know how to respond to it.

His fingers slowly moved down over Phil's chest, running through the dark hair that spread over his skin.  Clint hadn't ever thought he would find chest hair a turn-on, but on Phil, it was really hot.  He had no idea why that was the case, but at this point he couldn't care less.

Unlike Clint, Phil didn't have the sort of pronounced muscles that were a sign of actively working to stay in top shape.  That wasn't to say that Phil was a slob or had a gut; far from it.  He just wasn't ripped.  Phil was fit in his own way, more like a runner than an archer or fighter like Clint was, and Clint liked it.  Looking into Phil's eyes, Clint smiled slightly.

"Nice," he breathed.

Phil's eyes lit up at Clint's praise, and he gently pulled Clint down for another kiss.  Even knowing that something like this was coming, the kiss took Clint's breath away.  Smiling into the kiss, Clint ran a hand along Phil's side and around to press against the other man's back.  This tender touching, while not something he was used to, felt right for the moment, and Clint just wanted to savor it.

As they kissed, their lips and tongues slowly exploring, Clint and Phil continued to undress one another.  Clint somehow managed to get his jeans all the way off without breaking the kiss—that really should get him a reward, he was sure—and stood there, pressed against Phil in just his boxers and socks.  Phil pulled out of the kiss with a reluctant noise, undoing his own belt and slacks so that he would be just as undressed as Clint.

When Phil was also in just his boxers, Clint's eyes flicked down to fully admire the man standing in front of him.  That was when he saw just how hard Phil was.  The tent in Phil's boxers was very prominent, and Clint moaned weakly in longing when he saw this.  Looking up into Phil's eyes again, Clint moved closer and pressed his forehead against Phil's neck.

"I need to touch you, Phil," he moaned weakly.  "I need you to touch me."

Phil's hand moved to the waistband of Clint's boxers and he nodded gently.  "Okay, Clint," he murmured.

Slowly, Phil eased Clint's boxers down over his hips and past his cock.  As he did this, Clint mirrored the actions by slowly easing down Phil's boxers.  It was a little scary, now that they were finally going to be naked in front of one another, but Clint forced that fear back.  Toeing his socks off after kicking his boxers away, he glanced at Phil to see how he responded.  Phil looked a little awe-struck as he took in the sight of how hard Clint was, which only served to make Clint blush deeply.

"See something you like?" he snarked, taking in the sight of Phil as well.

Clint had always prided himself on being not only somewhat long—not long enough to be unable to fully fit inside his female partners, though—but also thick.  Phil's cock was thick, but slightly longer than Clint's was.  Not that Clint felt threatened by this, honestly.  Clint actually found the sight of Phil's cock really intriguing and hot.

"Can I… touch you?" Clint asked quietly.

Phil seemed to snap out of whatever daydream he was stuck in.  Smiling at Clint, Phil nodded.  "Only if I get to touch you too," he replied.

Nodding enthusiastically, Clint slowly took Phil's cock in his hand.  It was a little strange, touching a cock that wasn't his, but not in a bad way.  Carefully, he began to stroke Phil's cock the way Clint knew _he_ liked to be touched.  Phil seemed to like it too, since he groaned low in his throat and rolled his hips slowly.  Then Phil's hand was wrapped around his cock, and Clint had to fight to be able to think straight.  Gasping sharply as Phil traced the head of his cock with a thumb, Clint bucked his hips and clutched at Phil's shoulder with his free hand.

"Fuck," he groaned.  "S'good, Phil."

"Yeah," Phil moaned, holding Clint close.  "Do you want to lie on the bed?"

Clint's head fell forward against Phil's shoulder, and he nodded weakly.  "Might fall over if I don't," he admitted sheepishly.

Phil chuckled a little and pulled his hand away from Clint's cock.  With a reluctant whine, Clint let go of Phil's cock before he flopped back onto the bed.  It was just as pleasantly soft as he'd thought it would be when he first saw it.  Smiling slightly over at Phil, Clint watched the other man closely.  Phil moved to the bedside table, opening the drawer and pulling out a few squeeze bottles of lube.

"Do you have any allergies that I should know about before we pick a lube?" Phil asked, glancing over at Clint with a smile.

"Not that I'm aware of," Clint replied, admiring Phil shamelessly.

"No latex allergies?"

Clint shook his head, his cock twitching a little at the thought of Phil getting out condoms and what that meant.  Phil smiled and nodded at this, grabbing a condom as well as selecting a lube.  With Clint still watching him, Phil moved to kneel on the bed, settling between Clint's legs.

"I'll take this slow," he promised.  "I don't want to hurt you on your first time."

That level of concern, something Clint just wasn't used to, made Clint melt a little as he nodded his understanding.  "I trust you, Phil," he admitted quietly.

A look of surprise and affection crossed Phil's face as Clint said this.  Smiling gently at Clint, Phil leaned closer to him and pressed a kiss to his lips.  Clint reached up to cup his hands over Phil's cheeks, keeping him close as he responded eagerly to the kiss.  Even with how gentle the kiss had started, their combined lust soon made it far from tender.  With the kiss growing more intense, Clint almost didn't notice when Phil began to spread lube around his asshole.

It was the sudden feeling of something cold and wet against his skin that alerted him to this fact.  Gasping softly, Clint arched his back, pulling out of the kiss.  He'd never really explored playing with his ass before.  He'd had female lovers who would fondle his ass, and he'd liked that, but there'd never been a lover who had actually tried anything related to anal with him.  Now, with Phil, he was not only curious, but eager to try anal.  And with how good this bare touch felt, it was probably going to be really good.  Then Phil was easing a finger into him, and Clint gasped at the sensation.

"Relax, Clint," Phil murmured as he kissed along Clint's jaw.  "It won't hurt if you relax."

Nodding weakly, Clint willed himself to relax.  As he did so, he could feel Phil's finger slip further into him, spreading the wet, slippery sensation of the lube as it went.  Once Phil's finger was fully inside of him, Clint moaned weakly.  He didn't feel too stretched-out, or even that full, and it made him want _more._  But he knew that Phil wouldn't rush this.

"Is that good?" Phil asked, his lips now trailing gently along Clint's neck.

Moaning softly, Clint nodded slowly.  "Oh yeah," he gasped.  "Want more…"

"In a minute," Phil promised.

Before Clint could complain, Phil slowly began moving his finger inside of Clint, spreading the lube more.  It was a little strange, having that slick feeling inside of him, but it was also really fucking hot.  Groaning weakly, Clint rolled his hips to try and gain more stimulation from Phil's touch.  Then Phil was pulling his finger out, and Clint whined at this.

"Wait… no," he complained.  "Don't stop!"

"Don't worry," Phil reassured him.

To further reassure Clint, Phil began to slowly ease two fingers into Clint with even more lube.  Moaning at the sensation, Clint shuddered at the new stretch.  It didn't burn too much, which he was grateful for, but it did feel a little uncomfortable for a little bit.  Once his body adjusted to having two fingers instead of just one inside of him, it felt really good.  Really _fucking_ good.

"Oh _fuck,"_ Clint whined.  "So fucking good, Phil!  I want you inside of me!"

"Not yet," Phil said in a tense voice, slowly rocking his hips against Clint's.  "You're not loose enough yet."

Panting weakly, Clint nodded and rocked his hips.  "Then fucking get me loose enough," he growled.

In answer, Phil began to scissor his fingers inside of Clint, spreading him slowly.  At first, this also felt a little uncomfortable, but Clint was soon moaning and rolling his hips again as his body began to crave even more of this stretch.  Gasping and moaning as Phil continued to kiss along his throat and fuck Clint with his fingers, Clint clutched at Phil's shoulders tightly.

"I think you're ready, Clint," Phil murmured into Clint's ear, slowly nibbling at his earlobe.

"Yes," Clint moaned.  "Yes, yes, yes!"

Chuckling softly, Phil pulled back from Clint, even though he whined when Phil's fingers left him.  Clint propped himself up on his elbows to watch as Phil slowly opened up the condom packet and then eased the condom down over his hard cock.  With the condom now on, Phil began to spread lube over his cock, meeting Clint's eyes intently.

"Tell me if you ever need more lube," Phil ordered gently.  "I really don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," Clint groaned.  "Now come on already and fuck me!"

Pressing against Clint, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, Phil positioned his cock at Clint's entrance.  Then, slowly, he began to ease into Clint.  This was a different kind of stretching than having Phil's fingers inside of him, and Clint gasped quietly, holding tightly to Phil's shoulders.  It burned a little as his body stretched to let Phil's cock inside of him, but not in a painful way.  Moaning weakly, Clint pressed his face against Phil's neck.  Phil paused for a moment once he was completely inside of Clint, letting them both catch their breath and adjust.

After a moment or two of waiting, Clint rolled his hips slowly, whimpering at how surprisingly _good_ it felt to have something so big inside of him.  Phil moaned into his ear, taking the hint and beginning to rock his hips slowly.  They continued this slow rhythm for a few minutes, both of them getting used to one another, and Clint just getting used to this kind of sex to begin with.  Then, Clint needed _more._

"Please," he groaned quietly.  "I want you to go faster."

"Okay," Phil panted.

With Phil's hands now gripping his hips tightly, Clint gasped as Phil began to thrust into him faster.  What Clint hadn't realized at first was that 'faster' also implied 'harder'.  Not that he minded.  He found that he liked the way Phil's hips slammed into his, making the bed creak a little under them.  Each thrust made Clint whimper in pleasure, and he reached down between their bodies to stroke his own cock.  The combined sensations made his head spin.

"Fuck," Phil moaned as Clint's hand stroking along his cock brushed against Phil's stomach.  "Are you close, Clint?"

"Oh fuck yes," Clint growled, stroking himself faster as he bucked his hips.  "I'm gonna come."

"Go on," Phil urged him, his hips continuing to pound into Clint.

With those words, along with all the combined sensations flooding through him, Clint was soon stiffening underneath Phil as he came hard.  His cock shot out hot lines of semen, spreading over his and Phil's stomachs.  As he writhed underneath Phil with the aftershocks of his orgasm, Clint groaned weakly.  Then he felt Phil stiffen against him as Phil's cock twitched inside of him.  He couldn't feel Phil's semen inside of him, because of the condom, but just knowing that he had made Phil come was enough for him.

"Fuck," Clint moaned as he came down from the high of his orgasm.

"Yeah," Phil agreed with a breathless chuckle.

For a minute or two, the only sound was their labored breathing as they both began to relax.  Then, Phil slowly pulled out of Clint, moving to dispose of the used condom quickly.  Once the condom was taken care of, Phil made his way out of the bedroom for a minute before he returned to join Clint on the bed.  He had a damp washcloth in his hand, and slowly began cleaning them both off.

"That was…" Phil trailed off, glancing at Clint's face with a slight smile.  "Incredible."

Clint nodded in agreement, moving to wrap an arm around Phil's waist.  He wasn't usually a post-coital cuddler, but with Phil he still wanted to be as close to the other man as possible.  Phil certainly didn't seem to mind, as he set the washcloth aside and moved to pull Clint closer to his chest.  They were both quiet, just enjoying the afterglow.

"Mind if I stay the night?" Clint asked quietly.

There was a moment of silence before Phil answered; just enough to make Clint start to get nervous.  Then, Phil gently kissed Clint's forehead.

"I'd love it if you did," he said with a slight smile against Clint's skin.  "I… wouldn't mind if this became… a regular thing," he added.

Clint's heart swelled with joy as he heard this and he hugged Phil tight against his chest.  "I've wanted to ask for that for… shit, for years now," he admitted.

"Then I guess it's a good thing that you kissed me," Phil laughed quietly.  "We should get some rest, though."

Even though he wanted to protest, Clint really couldn't.  He yawned slowly and nodded against Phil's neck, closing his eyes.  He wasn't worried about the morning, either.  Now that he knew Phil wanted to make this into a thing for them both, he was finally willing to let himself be happy.  Everything would work out, since he finally got something good in his life.

End

 

**Author's Note:**

> So this was my first ever attempt at writing gay smut. I hope you all enjoyed it!


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